That Which Survives
by Rogue Tomato
Summary: The team rallies together to lift the spirits of one of their own when a hostage situation ends badly. How can they help when the one that is struggling insists that he's fine?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Written for hazelmom for the SESA exchange on NFA.

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or any of its characters.

**That Which Survives**

"Agent McGee has gotten quite proficient at evasion."

Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs looked up from the report he'd been working on for the past forty minutes to see Dr. Rachel Cranston standing firmly in front of his desk, her arms folded carefully across her chest. Dropping his pencil, Gibbs leaned back in his chair.

"How so?"

"Well," Dr. Cranston began, "first we had a very engaging conversation about Delilah. And though I am heartened to hear how well she is doing and the remarkable process she's made since the last time I spoke with Agent McGee, it was hardly relevant enough to take up twenty minutes of our scheduled hour together. And though he touched on the Eichhorn case and its unfortunate outcome, my _real_ questions were all expertly sidestepped with astonishing precision and immaculate manners. I'd actually be impressed were I not so concerned."

Gibbs sighed and took a moment to look beyond Dr. Cranston to McGee's desk. The workstation was unoccupied, of course. Vance had granted the team some downtime to catch up from the whirlwind of difficult cases they'd been assigned over the past several months, ending with the devastating outcome of their most recent case only a short week ago.

And while Gibbs, Tony and Ellie had spent the time catching up on paperwork and looking in on some of their older cold cases, Gibbs had made certain that McGee had spent the past couple of days away from the office. He hadn't intended to single out Tim, even though he was sure McGee felt otherwise. On the contrary, Tim had appeared to accept and move on from the ordeal with little trouble. It wasn't until very recently that Gibbs had noticed that things seemed off with his agent. He wasn't as focused. He was visibly sagging in his chair each morning. The back and forth banter with Tony quickly turned into terse replies and cold shoulders.

That was what finally forced Gibbs to send the young man home, with explicit instructions to stay away from the office for a few days.

Outside of that morning's mandatory psych eval, of course.

McGee hadn't been thrilled with the thought of meeting with Dr. Cranston, but being the dutiful agent he was, his attempts at avoiding the evaluation had been half-hearted at best.

"_I really don't need to meet with her, boss. Everything I need to say about the case is in my report."_

"_You know the rules."_

"_Yes, boss." A beat. "She'll want to talk about Eichhorn." _

_Gibbs nodded. "Probably."_

"_Do I really –"_

"_If you want to be cleared for active duty, you do."_

"_I'm ready now," McGee insisted. "I'm _fine_ boss. Really."_

_Gibbs could see that McGee truly felt that he was fine, and for a moment, he second-guessed his decision to mandate this evaluation. But a critical eye confirmed what he knew to be true. As much as McGee tried to downplay it, he was not okay. There was… something off about his behavior, and if McGee was unwilling to address it, then he would take matters into his own hands._

"_I'm glad to hear it, McGee. Then it won't be a problem to meet with Dr. Cranston on Friday." _

"_This Friday?"_

"This Friday."

_A small sigh. "Yes, boss."_

"_And McGee?" Gibbs waited until those green eyes, dulled by pain and exhaustion, finally rose from their intense examination of the floor to meet his unrelenting look. "Go home."_

Gibbs hid his frown behind a sip of his coffee. "What needs to be done?"

"I'll need to speak to him again, for one thing. Preferably before the holiday," the doctor said with a trace of sympathy. It wasn't a secret that Gibbs hated it when his team was sidelined for any reason. He knew that Vance could still assign them a major case if one popped up before McGee was fully cleared for duty, but he would rather not be a man down. He relied too heavily on each of his agents. Going out into the field without Tim was something he wished to avoid if at all possible. Another session with Dr. Cranston would delay things, of course, but it was a necessary delay.

"He must accept his role in what happened," Dr. Cranston continued. "Clearly he's trying to project an aura of being unaffected, but I can tell you now that isn't the case."

"It's like the bombing all over again," Gibbs heard Tony mumble from behind his own desk. "When he wouldn't tell us about Delilah's condition."

"You're only partially right, Agent DiNozzo," the doctor agreed, turning her body around to formally include Tony in the conversation. "In that instance, McGee was suffering from intense abnegation. Denial over Delilah's condition and an unhealthy dose of guilt along with it. That's not what is happening here."

"Then what is?" Gibbs asked a bit impatiently.

Dr. Cranston's clinical gaze shifted back to Gibbs. "There is a danger of Tim losing himself over this. I'm not just talking about fear or hesitation to pull the trigger again. It goes much deeper. He's been through a lot these past few years. He may begin to second-guess himself and his reasons for being here, seeing only the pain. The bad, not the good."

"You think he'd quit?" Gibbs couldn't ignore the flare of pain nor panic that he felt at that possible outcome.

"It's not like it hasn't happened before," she said quietly, and Ziva David's name hovered unspoken between them. "I'm not asking you to do my job for me, but get him to open up about what happened. Acknowledgement that his suffering will not be seen as weakness will be a great first step. He needs to see that you've all been affected, in one way or another."

She paused and turned to look again at Tony, then over to Ellie. "It will help him realize that he isn't alone."

"But he just acts like everything is okay," Tony insisted as he rose slowly from his seat, feet widening into a defensive stance. "And at first, it was easy to believe him. The first few days back, he seemed…"

"Normal," Ellie finished for him, and Tony nodded.

"He worked, smiled… he acted like everything was normal. But…" Tony's voice trailed off and he looked a little lost as his eyes flicked from Ellie, to Gibbs, and finally rested on Dr. Cranston.

"But it didn't take long to realize that something was wrong, did it?" she asked.

"No," Gibbs answered for all of them.

"He isn't sleeping," the doctor offered as she twisted back around to address Gibbs again. "I got that much out of him."

"I'll take care of it," Gibbs assured her, and Dr. Cranston accepted the declaration with a nod before taking her leave.

Gibbs looked at McGee's desk again. It was tidy, as usual, though perhaps missing a Styrofoam container with lunch half-eaten; the meal's recipient too engrossed in tweaking a software program to make their jobs easier. Gibbs had been pleased that morning to find the desk unoccupied, knowing McGee had taken his command to stay away seriously.

But he wasn't stupid. McGee may not be _here_, but he wasn't far.

"Tony."

"On it, boss."

Gibbs allowed a small smirk to tug at his lips. This was why his team was so good. This was why a gaping hole would be left if a team member was lost. As Tony gave him a silent nod as he passed by, and when Ellie gave Gibbs a small smile as he walked by her desk on his way to get another cup of coffee, he understood the situation perfectly.

He couldn't fail in this. He _would not_ fail in this.

None of them would.

**\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/**

The basement that housed the cybercrimes unit of NCIS was not one that was frequently visited by those who did not work within the unit itself. It was a space which did not promote idle chatter of lingering agents discussing their weekend plans or the results of the latest game scores. There was no water cooler in which to share office gossip, though a gurgling coffee maker could be heard over the hum of cooling fans and the clicking of keys.

From wall to wall, the entire unit was perhaps sixty feet long and equally matched in width. There was no inch of wasted space; each desk full of monitors, keyboards and gadgets. Spare parts, wires and other components unidentifiable to the untrained eye littered every available surface, shelf and compartment. Though there was minimal conversation among the seated individuals, there was a sense of comradery – of shared purpose – that permeated the silence.

Special Agent Tony DiNozzo weaved around the desks, sharing clipped nods and small smiles with those he passed. Silent directions were given through knowing looks towards a small alcove near back of the room. Soft light flooded out from the open door, casting a muted orange glow on the surrounding area.

Tony approached silently, unsure of how his presence would be construed. Clearly his wayward friend had come down here for a reason, and Tony had a pretty good idea what that reason is. Avoidance had several modus operandi, after all; physical removal of oneself being the most obvious and convenient.

A head popped around one of the many tall, black cabinets – servers, Tony ventured to guess – the individual's brown hair matted flat to a head glistening with sweat. The room was stifling, but Tim had at least removed his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie. Normally, he looked completely at home among the circuitry and display units. Yet today his movements were stiff and hesitant. McGee moved back and forth between the narrow aisle, disappearing and reappearing around the immense technology. Tony caught glimpses of the other agent's intensely focused face and the new lines of exhaustion drawn around his eyes and mouth.

"I thought you hated it down here, Tony," Tim remarked, sparing Tony the smallest of glances before tugging on some wiring that ran from one port to another before it disappeared into the high ceiling.

Despite the lack of a warm greeting, Tony smiled. "Nah. It's not so bad. Just don't tell them I said that," he added, tilting his head back and over his shoulder toward the dozen agents assigned to the cybercrimes division. "I thought Gibbs told you not to come into work today."

"Gibbs told me he didn't want to see me in the bullpen for a few days," Tim corrected with a trace of humor, and Tony felt his eyebrows quirk upward. "He didn't say anything about avoiding the building altogether."

"Deliberately misinterpreting the boss' orders," Tony said with a bit of awe. "You're a braver man than I, McGee."

Tim shrugged and resumed his unknown task. There were several minutes of silence occasionally broken by a mumbled phrase of frustration or vexation on McGee's part, and Tony realized that his presence had been forgotten. Oblivious to Tony's watchful gaze, Tim sank back into his task with singular, almost obsessive, tenacity. Tony had no idea what the other man was attempting to do, but he found that he can no longer watch his friend break down in this way. It was quiet. Ambiguous even. But Tim was self-destructing nonetheless.

Tony waited until there was a lull in his fellow agent's apparent diagnostic work to clear his throat and reiterate his presence in the smaller space. Tim looked back at him with some surprise.

"Tony, what are you still doing down here?"

"Well, that's what I came down here to ask you. Or did you forget that you are a field agent and no longer one of the geeks?"

Tim shrugged, ignoring the dig against his former co-workers. "I like it down here. I still help when I can."

Tony leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. "And they need it?"

"Need what?"

"Help," Tony clarified. He pushed when Tim's head disappeared again without a satisfactory answer. "What are you doing?"

"Keeping my skills up," came the muffled response, and Tony rolled his eyes at the obvious deflection. Tim's skills were not rusty, and therefore not in need of 'keeping up.' Just last month, Tim had finished developing a backdoor surveillance program designed to search the contents of a hard drive for suspicious data, monitor computer use, and report back criminal activities in real-time, all done wirelessly and without detection. The program was currently being tested by Agent Pride and his team, but even Tony knew that the initial feedback was promising. Vance was itching to install it in MTAC as early as next week.

"C'mon, McGee, it's getting late," Tony said, trying a different tactic. "Jake's out of town, so Ellie wants us all to head out for dinner. I'm thinking Thai, but she wants pizza. Come upstairs, side with me, and let's go get some tom yam goong."

"I'm really not that hungry," Tim said as he hunched over some sort of tool kit, but Tony wasn't ready to give up so easily.

"We can make a night of it. Dinner. Drinks. We could head back to my place. I've been dying to show Ellie _Twelve Angry Men_. Can you believe she's never seen it?"

"Mmhmm," Tim mumbled vaguely, still searching for something in the kit.

"Maybe we could have a movie marathon. Henry Fonda's got some classics. _How the West Was Won… Battle of the Bulge…_" Tony trailed off because it was clear Tim wasn't listening to him and he sighed, rubbing a tired hand down his face. "Tim!"

"What?" Tim called from over his shoulder as he continued to rummage around for a missing… something. Tony didn't even know. Nor did he care. This was not going the way he wanted it to go. He was not immune to experiencing fallout over his own ordeal with this traumatic case. He was tired and stressed. And so he didn't blame himself later for what happened next.

"It's been a week, McGee," Tony said. "You have to…"

Tim's back stiffened, and Tony knew he'd overstepped. Tim stood up fully now, and not for the first time did Tony notice his partner's exhaustion. The last several days had not been kind to McGee, and Tony wished he had done something sooner. Now the best he could do is help his friend come to terms with the past, learn from it, and find a way to move on.

"I have to do what, Tony?"

"Nothing, Tim, just forget I said…"

"No. No. What do I have to do? Get over it? Is that what you were going to say?" Tony wanted to say something, anything to correct his blunder, but Tim was on a roll, and Tony could do nothing but stand there. "Do you think Livia's parents have gotten over it?"

"Of course not," Tony sighed. "That's not what I…"

"Yes it is," Tim interrupted again, but there was no anger in his voice. It was the familiar tone of defeat and weary acceptance that Tim had hid so well from all of them those first few days, and that was what frustrated Tony the most. He wanted nothing more than to walk over to Tim, grab his shoulders, and shake him to make him see– to make Tim realize…

Yet it would not work. Dr. Cranston was correct in her assessment that Tim wasn't the only one feeling the strain from recent events.

Enough time had passed since that horrifying day that Tony himself had wearily accepted his own defeat when it came to Tim's view of the event. A little girl had died, but Tony had been saved. It wasn't the result everyone was truly happy about, though Tony was certainly thrilled with the lack of his own demise. If it hadn't been for Tim's focus and quick thinking, Tony knew he would have died that day.

Tony also knew that Tim was aware of that fact as well, and that Tim had, in all probability, humbly accepted the role of Tony's savior. What wasn't so certain was the life of a fourteen-year-old daughter of a Naval Lieutenant Commander. It was her passing that ate away at all of them, but Tim most of all. Because it was his heroic act of saving Tony that also condemned that girl to death.

Tim mumbled something so softly, that Tony only caught the name 'John Benedict' near the end. Surprised, Tony took one small step toward his friend. Even after so many years, Benedict's death was something they never spoke about.

"This is different and you know it," Tony admonished gently.

"Her funeral was today," Tim whispered, his eyes slipping shut.

Tony finally stepped fully into the small room and put a hand on Tim's shoulder, squeezing in sympathy. "I know."

Tim quickly pulled himself together and shrugged Tony's hand off with a small smile. It was no wonder Tim was able to hide his exhaustion and true suffering from the team in the beginning. When had he gotten so good at masking his feelings?

"I'm sorry, Tim. I didn't… I really didn't mean to say you need to get over what happened."

"I know," he replied with a smile. It was small, but genuine, and Tony's heart leapt. "And you're right. Thai food sounds great. Just, uh, give me a few minutes and I'll meet you in the garage."

Tony smiled and slapped McGee on the back before they parted ways and Tony ran back upstairs, foregoing the elevator and taking the steps two at a time in his glee at his small victory. Charging into the bullpen, Ellie stood up and gave Tony a questioning look. He nodded, she smiled, and they high-fived one another childishly before they were reigned back in by Gibbs.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm pleased with his progress," Dr. Cranston admitted over an early morning cup of coffee. Ellie felt a bit weird having a conversation about one of her co-workers secretly like this, though Tony and Gibbs didn't seem too bothered. Ellie supposed that if the doctor said it was important enough to touch base again about Tim, then she wouldn't disagree.

"Especially after such a short period of time. You guys certainly took my words to heart."

Ellie smiled at the doctor's kind words and noticed her co-workers seemed pleased as well. She and Tony had certainly put in a lot of effort to bring Tim out of his funk, or whatever it was. It had been tricky, at first. McGee was no fool – he knew exactly what the pair of them were trying to do. But he went along with it anyway. Ellie knew that Tim felt that they were blowing things out of proportion. Tim had said several times that he was _fine_ and expressed a large desire to get back out into the field to prove just how fine he was.

On one level, Ellie could agree with Tim's assessment of himself. After Gibbs had finally agreed to let McGee come back to work, Tim had thrown himself into his cold cases as though he hadn't missed any time at all. He seemed genuinely pleased when Director Vance had come to congratulate Tim on the accomplishments of his new program. Vance had asked him to oversee the installation into MTAC once Christmas had passed and they were fully staffed once again, and Tim enthusiastically said yes.

Yet throughout it all, there were still signs that things weren't as they should be. Tim would join in conversations, though it took a bit more cajoling and pestering on Tony's part to pull him away from his work. Tony and Ellie had convinced Tim to join them for a few lunches away from the office, plus one movie night at Tony's place where Tim outright refused to stay the night, even though he'd been drinking and was clearly exhausted. At least he'd agreed to Tony's offer of calling a cab instead of taking the Metro home.

It hadn't been the refusal that had bothered Ellie so much. It had been the split second look of terror that crossed Tim's face when Tony had suggested he crash on the couch for the night. There was something behind that, Ellie decided, though Tim was gone before she could ponder it further.

"He was still very stubborn in his insistence that he is ready to be placed back in the field," the doctor continued. "And I am very close to agreeing with him."

"I sense a 'but' in there somewhere," Gibbs smirked dryly behind his own cup of coffee.

Dr. Cranston nodded. "He opened up a great deal about Eichhorn, as well as his role in Livia's death. I was pleasantly surprised that he spoke about you, Tony."

"Oh yeah?" Tony asked, a cheeky grin spread across his face.

"Yes. He mentioned a long conversation the two of you had a few nights ago. Something about you admitting to how scared you were at Cobb Island?"

"Oh. Yeah," Tony mumbled, and Ellie smiled at the small blush that crept up his neck. "Though I don't think I said I was scared. More like worried. Concerned for my well-being."

Gibbs growled Tony's name in warning.

"Sorry, boss," Tony sighed. "McGee's right. I was scared. I made a stupid mistake that made the whole thing worse. It's just… when I heard her screaming, I knew I had to do something. I didn't think. I just ran into that cabin."

"Livia wasn't in there," Dr. Cranston guessed and Tony shook his head. "Tim said Eichhorn was some sort of engineer?"

"Bachelor of Science in Audio Technology from American University," Ellie rattled off matter-of-factly, remembering when Tim had found that piece of information early on in the case. Of course, it hadn't seemed important at the time. Eichhorn's current job in construction management, specifically as a structural engineer, held most of their focus from that point on.

In short: Eichhorn was a demolitionist. He liked to blow stuff up.

However, the man's studies in audio engineering certainly had paid off when he'd lured Tony into that house in search of a kidnapped girl who wasn't even there. Her screams had merely been a projected recording of past tortures Ellie tried very hard not to think about.

Tony sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Everything just kind of snowballed from there. If I had just waited. Or even just watched where I was stepping…"

"Sounds like you still harbor a lot of guilt over that," Dr. Cranston said softly, sitting back as well. "Maybe you and I need another session together, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony's eyes sprang up to meet hers. "No! No, no. Thank you, Dr. Cranston, but one session was enough for me." He laughed. "You said it was important that Tim see how much we'd all been affected. So, I let him see."

"It was important. Still is," she added.

"It took a lot of Thai food and pizza to get Tony to open up," Ellie spoke with a smile. "But once he did, Tim relaxed a lot more around us. Not that his unease was too noticeable to begin with, though."

"No, it wouldn't be," Dr. Cranston agreed. "Tim honestly believes that though he feels badly about Livia's death, he has moved past it and views it as an unfortunate, though tragic, outcome that couldn't have been avoided. He maintains that everyone is making a fuss over nothing."

"You still haven't gotten around to that 'but' yet, doctor," Gibbs mumbled, steering the conversation back to the topic at hand.

Dr. Cranston smiled. "Agent McGee insists that he harbors no guilt over the incident, but I am beginning to doubt that. There is something that is preventing him from fully moving on from this case, but because of this stubbornness, I am unable to pinpoint the cause."

"He still isn't sleeping well," Ellie piped in. "Or at least, it doesn't look like he is. He's tired all of the time. He says it's because he isn't active out in the field, and sitting at his desk all day is making him sleepy."

"I've put him on a strict sleep regimen. Hopefully you'll see some improvement soon." Dr. Cranston finished her drink and stood, pulling on her coat and grabbing her purse. "Keep doing what you're doing," she encouraged. "It really is helping. I am going to see Agent McGee again after Christmas. If there isn't any more improvement…"

"We understand," Gibbs said.

"Good. Merry Christmas."

**\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/**

The night went as well as anyone could have hoped. It was almost as if the shadow that had been hanging over them had dissipated, even for just a short time. Tim laughed and joined in conversation and to an outsider, he looked like an average guy having some drinks with friends.

But Ellie, who maybe didn't know Tim as well as Tony did, but knew him well enough, saw how carefully Tim continued to divert the conversation away from recent events. She could see as the hours passed by how Tim sank slowly in his seat, leaning slightly to his left not due to alcohol, but exhaustion.

Tony and Ellie shared a look that quickly turned into a silent conversation, finally settling on a plan of action to continue to put Dr. Cranston's most recent advice to work. It sounded as though Tim's second meeting with the doctor went better than the first, though she still felt strongly that there was work to be done. Apparently there was still something that Tim was stubbornly refusing to come to terms with, and Dr. Cranston would not be satisfied until everything had been resolved.

A short time before midnight, the tab was paid and the trio walked steadily out into the wintery evening air. For the past few weeks, the city had been spared from snow, but the chilly air foretold a coming storm. None of the agents had consumed too much alcohol, though the Friday evening was a precursor to another weekend off duty. In Ellie's experience, those were usually rare. Yet the consequences of Eichhorn's case continued to have far reach, and being barred from active duty certainly led to a greater amount of downtime.

Tony bid farewell and Ellie carefully led Tim to her car, having spent the past twenty minutes convincing him that though he was out of her way, she would be bringing him home. McGee must have been more tired than even Ellie realized because it took him far too long to realize the direction in which they were headed.

"Uh, Ellie… my house is that way," he said, pointing somewhere vaguely to the right.

"I know," she responded perhaps a bit too cheerfully, but she was nervous about what she was going to do. But, nerves or no, she knew that this was the right thing to do. "Tim, I… that is we… uh, we all spoke with Dr. Cranston this morning."

"Oh."

Ellie stole a quick glance at Tim's downturned face and pressed on before she could let it bother her. She hadn't felt fully comfortable with talking about Tim without his knowledge, and already that one small admission lifted her guilt.

"She's concerned about you. Well, we all are. She mentioned that there still might be something you need to talk about." Tim remained silent, but Ellie was undeterred. "You aren't sleeping."

For a moment, Ellie thought Tim was going to start an argument with her. His arms folded across his chest, projecting a stubborn refusal to respond to her observation. Though he glared out his window, in his reflection Ellie could still see the emotions playing over his features.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I know," Ellie said quietly, and from the corner of her eye, she watched as Tim finally turned his head to look at her. A few minutes went by in silence, during which Tim slowly unfolded his arms and sighed deeply.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Nothing about you is obvious, McGee." And hadn't that been the truth from the first moment Ellie had met him? She'd heard the stories when she'd still been with the NSA about Tim's exploits with NCIS. He had been, and still was, well known for his savvy with computers. But what she had come to know over the past year was what a competent agent he was. She has discovered the depth of his loyalty to his job, his family and his friends.

Tim's eyes drifted back out the window. "I've tried. Dr. Cranston gave me some ideas on how… I just… can't. It's… hard to explain."

"You could try explaining it to me." Tim shrugged but said nothing. "Do you trust me?"

Tim looked back at her and his response was immediate. "Of course I do," he said sincerely.

"Good. We're here."

Ellie parked her car and climbed out, with Tim doing the same only moments later. Ellie led the way down a familiar sidewalk. The park was on the small side, but showed signs of wear that only excessive use from generations of loyal families could produce. Warped iron benches lined the path at equidistant intervals, the pattern broken occasionally by drinking fountains that had certainly seen better days and tall lamps giving off small circles of light. A playground consisting of a slide and pair of swings were to the agents' right, but Ellie led them to the left where an oblong pond divided the park in half. She sat on one of the benches near the shore, wrapping her coat more tightly around her body before Tim joined her.

"Should we be here so late?" Tim asked, his breath coming out in a wisp of white fog.

"I thought you said you trusted me," Ellie teased and she was pleased with Tim's small blush. Settling back on the bench and suppressing a shiver that wasn't entirely from the cold, Ellie began her story.

"A few years ago, I was part of task force helping track a small domestic terrorist cell looking to make a name for itself. I can't say much about the group, or what happened… too much of it is classified. But near the end, we tracked members of the group down and I was forced to make a choice."

"What kind of choice?" Tim asked.

"Well," she paused to give herself time to recall, and push aside, the powerful emotions and memories from that time. "You see, I… well, I…"

"I'm sorry," Tim said and Ellie, confused, turn to look at him. "This is obviously hard for you to talk about. You don't need to tell me, you know."

Ellie sighed. Tim was right about that. It was still difficult to talk about after all these years, but she had accepted the lesson learned long ago and convinced herself that speaking about it was not re-living the event, but looking at it like a casual observer would. This was something Tim would learn to do, given the time. And that was why her story needed to be shared.

"But I want to tell you," she said with a small smile and continued her story with no further delays. "We intercepted some chatter that there would be a demonstration of the group's power here in this park, but it was from an unreliable source. The informant gave us names of guys that would be in charge of this act, but the names given weren't even on our radar. They were blue-collar, hard-working Americans who had nothing bigger than a speeding ticket on their records. Nothing made sense. Then, a few days later, we got another tip that this group was planning an attack at a high-profile hotel. It was a big target with names attached to it that we _knew_ were in the cell. The choice seemed obvious."

"But not to you?" Tim guessed and Ellie smiled at his deduction.

"Nope. It all seemed a bit convenient to me, and I had a hunch that the so-called demonstration in the park was the real deal." She shrugged. "My supervisors thought otherwise, and after a while, I agreed. We made a choice. _I_ made a choice."

"What happened?"

"Four people were killed," Ellie said as her gaze moved across the pond, falling on a small stone memorial that could barely be seen on the edge of the opposite shore. "One was a preschooler."

Ellie couldn't go into many more details than that. As it was, she probably had already given too much away.

"But that wasn't your fault," Tim pointed out.

"I know," Ellie confirmed softly. "But I still felt guilty. I felt as though I should have seen through the inconsistencies and identified the real threat. I could have fought harder to bring attention to this place, to the possibility of what an attack here might mean."

But Tim wouldn't let it go, and Ellie smiled at his next comment. "You had to make a call, and you chose the bigger threat."

"Exactly. Don't you see, Tim? You made a call, but unlike me, you made the _right_ one." Tim shook his head, and Ellie knew she had to push a little further to get him to open up. With some hesitance, she reached out a hand and placed it on Tim's shoulder. "Why didn't you go to the funeral?"

Tim shrugged. "It wouldn't have been right."

"Livia's parents asked about you," Ellie said with a light squeeze of her hand. "They don't blame you."

"I know they don't," Tim responded and Ellie furrowed her brows at the apparent truthfulness of that statement. Maybe she'd been wrong and Tim's problem wasn't in harboring guilt over Livia's death? It was certainly the first thing she thought about when she had noticed his absence at the young girl's funeral. It brought her back to the past, when she herself had avoided the ceremonies given for those four civilians.

But if that wasn't guilt, what was it? What had turned Tim into the type of person that felt he needed to put on a brave front and hide what was bothering him? Or was Tim right after all? Were they all making a fuss about nothing? Did Tim need to simply move on under his own terms, rather than being pushed into something he just wasn't ready for?

Shaking her head, Ellie pushed those questions aside. She refused to believe that Tim was fully recovered from the ordeal. There were just too many signs pointing to his continued struggle.

"I just wish you would talk to me, Tim. To us… any of us. We're all worried about you."

Tim stood up, and her hand was forced to drop away from his shoulder. Her heart broke to see the way his expression turned from trusting to guarded.

"Please, Tim. I just wish you'd tell me…"

"Tell you what?" he interrupted. "That every time that I try to sleep… That I can't… She won't…" Tim shook his head and his gaze fell to the ground somewhere by his feet. His next words came out so softly that Ellie had to lean forward to catch them. "Do you want me to tell you that it hurts? Because it does. She won't let me…"

"She?" Ellie asked as she stood and made her way to Tim's side. "Who, Tim?"

Tim's breathing came out in jagged gasps and near sobs as he couldn't quite meet Ellie's gaze. Slowly, his eyes slipped closed and Ellie could see a tinge of pink creeping up his neck and cheeks in shame.

"It's… nothing, Ellie. I don't want to talk about it."

Ellie huffed in annoyance. The two friends stood side by side in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, Tim not willing to expound further on his worries and Ellie too afraid to push him for details.

"Tim," Ellie tentatively began. "I just… I want you to tell me what I can do for you."

"You can take me home," he mumbled and turned his head away from her. "There's nothing else you can do for me."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thank you everyone who read and reviewed this short story. It is greatly appreciated. I also wanted to extend a big thank you to **sockie1000**, who continues to be an amazing beta.

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><p><em>Livia's face haunted him as she died, again and again, in front of him.<em>

"_You killed me, Tim! It's all your fault! You killed me!"_

_Tim reached out for her, his fingertips brushed through her blonde curls as if they were smoke._

"_You could have saved me, Tim!" She shouted, her eyes blazing with hatred and accusation. "You chose him over me! You could have saved us both, but you didn't!"_

_Tim gasped for air, his exhales nothing more than sobs, as Livia continued to cry out to him._

"_It's all your fault!"_

_My fault… My fault… My fault…_

Tim awoke with a gasp as his most recent nightmare came to conclusion and immediately cursed his abrupt return to wakefulness. His back and neck protested as he straightened from his slumped over position. The muted glow from his laptop's screensaver revealed that he'd fallen asleep at his desk in yet another futile attempt at avoiding sleep.

He leaned back and moaned as he lifted his arms over his head in a long stretch and glanced at the clock. 9:48 p.m. Awakening his computer, he checked the time stamp on the most recent save to his document. 7:16 p.m. He'd slept for over two hours before the first nightmare hit. Not great, but certainly not the worst he had accomplished. Tim had come to appreciate any time spent sleeping without those horrible dreams. The dreams were never identical, even if they followed the same grotesque and depressing pattern.

Tracking the suspect to Cobb Island. Tony entering the house and stepping on the pressure plate. Eichhorn's appearance and the false negotiations that followed. Livia's death was the only constant, but the manner in which she died changed on a nightly basis.

Sometimes Eichhorn showed up in the house, dragging Livia along with him, and he'd detonate the bomb Tony preciously stood on, taking them all up with them. Other times, Tim would make it to the detached garage, only to watch helplessly as Livia was murdered in front of him. Most often it was Tim's doing: his aim would be off and he'd miss Eichhorn completely, which inevitably led to Tony's and Livia's death. Or, Tim would try to deactivate the bomb strapped to Livia, only to run out of time, and he'd wake with a scream on his lips, still feeling the burns and reeling from the shockwave.

In each instance, however, Livia had time to throw horrible accusations at Tim. Those nights were the hardest, when Tim would wake up and be unable to differentiate between nightmare and reality, and he spent too much time debating whether or not Livia's words were true.

"_You could have saved me, Tim!"_

Tim suddenly shuddered and clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. Stumbling to the bathroom, he fumbled with the light before trembling hands gripped the porcelain sink. He took a few deep breaths until his stomach settled. Once he felt confident he was no longer going to lose whatever he had eaten for dinner just hours before, Tim turned to leave, but caught his reflection in the mirror and froze.

Tim had always been on the pale side, but he was startled at his ghastly state. He was fully aware that he hadn't been sleeping well these past many weeks, but it wasn't until now that Tim had noticed how badly it was effecting him. The dark rings under his eyes were profound. There were stress lines on his skin that he'd never seen before. His unkempt hair appeared limp and too long.

He sighed. No wonder his friends were worried about him. He looked like a ghost.

Tim tore his gaze away from the mirror and stomped out of the bathroom, flopping down on his bed with a little more force than was necessary. He groaned as he could feel exhaustion pulling him toward unconsciousness once again, but he didn't think he could handle another nightmare. Yet another night of restlessness was even less appealing. Dr. Cranston's suggestions weren't working, and Tim was at the end of his rope.

Desperate, Tim sat up and snatched his phone off the side table next to his bed. Tony had hounded Tim enough these past few weeks and had finally gotten a promise out of Tim that he would call if he ever needed to talk. Tim had initially agreed just to get Tony off his back, but right now a conversation with his friend felt like just what he needed. Tim was halfway through dialing Tony's cell number when he remembered what day it was, and the fact that Tony was out of town. Hanging his head, Tim tried to tell himself he wasn't disappointed. He could still call, of course, but he didn't feel like interrupting any potential family gatherings.

Tim considered calling Ellie for only a moment, but decided against it almost immediately. Ellie was quickly becoming a great friend, but their level of familiarity wasn't at a place where calling on Christmas Eve felt appropriate.

Laying back down on his back and flinging an arm across his face, Tim measured his options. He could lay there and tell himself that he had been getting by just fine on his own since Livia's death and didn't need any help getting over a nightmare like some six-year-old, but that was a lie he had lived with for far too long. He didn't want to be in this state of self-imposed reticence any longer.

Though he wasn't completely comfortable with his decision, Tim got back up, slipped on his shoes and coat, and left his apartment. The drive surprisingly didn't take long and Tim found himself parked in Gibbs' driveway and knocking on his front door before he'd fully accepted that he was coming here in the first place. He was unable to act on his fleeting moment of panic before the door swung open and his boss was standing before him.

"The door's always unlocked, Tim."

"Oh," Tim blushed. Of course he knew that. "Right."

Gibbs regarded him silently for a moment. "Come on downstairs. You can help me sand."

"You're not busy?"

Gibbs' only response was to lead Tim wordlessly into the basement, tossing him a piece of sandpaper as soon as he reached the last step. Tim watched Gibbs as he adjusted the lighting over his workspace, only beginning the sanding process once he was satisfied with the angle of the illumination. He didn't seem to be bothered that Tim hadn't moved from the staircase landing. Gibbs seemed content to let Tim take his time.

"I can't sleep," Tim blurted out suddenly, unable to handle the silence any longer. "Dr. Cranston knows," Tim hurried to explain. "She's been trying to help, but…"

Tim trailed off and fidgeted with the course material still in his hands as Gibbs continued to work in silence. Finally Gibbs stood and wiped his hands down on a rag before snatching a couple tumblers off a table, filling each with two fingers of alcohol. Gibbs walked over to Tim and held out an empty hand.

"Oh, uh," Tim mumbled, handing over his unused sandpaper. Gibbs tossed it on his workstation before passing Tim a glass. He took a tentative sip while Gibbs finished his in one swallow. "You don't seem surprised to see me here, boss."

Gibbs shook his head. "Nope."

Tim nodded, unable to meet his boss' gaze. If Tim was honest, he wasn't really surprised at that answer. Nothing ever got past Gibbs, after all.

"I _am_ surprised it took you so long to come to me."

Tim's eyes snapped up to meet Gibbs' and saw a look of disappointment flash across the older man's face. Tim wanted to explain that there had been several times over the past few weeks that Tim had considered coming to his boss for advice. He wanted to reveal how embarrassed he was about his dreams… the nightmares… that plagued him so badly. Tim even contemplated telling Gibbs how ashamed he was about trying to hide his exhaustion from his team.

"I thought I could handle it," Tim admitted instead.

"Livia's death wasn't your fault," Gibbs said softly.

"I know. I really know that, boss," Tim insisted. Because Tim did know.

Tim knew that he hadn't done anything rash or stupid. He hadn't misfired or gotten distracted. He knew that his actions had both saved his partner and eliminated the immense threat that Eichhorn posed. His decision had been pure. His aim had been true. It may have not been the best possible outcome, but it was the best that Tim could have accomplished at the time. He had truly accepted that.

Yet, he couldn't let it go. Livia wouldn't let him. How could he, when her face haunted his dreams every night?

"Then what's the problem, McGee?"

Tim struggled to answer, not really ready to admit what he saw every night. He wasn't sure if Gibbs would be sympathetic, or would think that Tim was pathetic for being affected in such a way. Gibbs saw weakness as something to be conquered, and Tim respected him for that. But Tim wasn't stupid - he knew Gibbs wasn't infallible. He could recall several cases that had disturbed the older man, yet not to this extent. Or, Tim reasoned with himself, Gibbs was just better at hiding it.

"I don't know," Tim desperately admitted, not pleased with the plaintive desperation he heard in his voice. "I… you…" Tim sighed. "It's late. I should get going."

Turning his back on Gibbs, he began to mount the stairs two at a time.

"You're staying here tonight."

"Wait, what?" Tim spun around on the top step. "No. No, I can't stay here tonight."

"Why?" Gibbs asked as he slowly climbed the stairs until he was nose to nose with Tim.

"I need to go home," Tim said quietly and Gibbs only shook his head, staring at Tim with that signature expression as though he could see right through him. He probably could, Tim thought, remembering how bad his reflection had looked a few hours before.

"Please boss," Tim begged. "Let me go home. I don't want to be here when…"

"When what?"

Tim sighed in defeat. "I can't sleep, boss. I… I just _can't_. Livia… she… she won't let me forget."

"McGee," Gibbs began, but Tim doesn't want to hear what his boss has to say, inordinately worried that he'd only hear disappointment.

"I can't sleep because every time I close my eyes, she's there. And she shows it to me over and over and over… but it's never the same. Only it is, because she dies every time. And every single time, it's me who kills her."

He didn't mention how often he woke up screaming. Or the nights where he was too wound up to even stay in bed, forced to pace and wander around his apartment until his alarm alerted him that it was time to get ready for work. Sleeping away from home, and subjecting anyone else to Tim's reality, was _not_ an option.

Tim knew his eyes were wet with unshed tears, but he couldn't bring himself to care about it right then. "How can I move past it when she won't let me?"

A long moment passes before Gibbs took a step back from Tim so they weren't so close anymore. Tim sighed in relief at the added space, but tensed when Gibbs' hand came up and cupped the back of his neck.

"Oh, Tim," Gibbs whispered and when Tim looked into his eyes he saw a brief look at sympathy before it quickly disappeared and the hand dropped away. "Did you know that the detonator was tied to both bombs? Did any of us know?"

Tim shook his head.

"Did Eichhorn give any indication of where Livia was, or that she was in any immediate danger?"

Again Tim silently shook his head.

"And what were you thinking when you shot Eichhorn?"

Tim thought back to that moment. Eichhorn's sneer of confidence when he pulled out the remote, threatening to push a button and detonate the bomb that only Tony's weight was keeping disarmed. The deranged man yelled at Gibbs, Ellie and Tim to leave Tony behind, derisively mocking the team leader that that surely only one dead agent was better than four.

"I just wanted to save Tony."

Gibbs nodded slowly. "And you did. You saved us all. Bomb techs told me that there were enough explosives under that plate to take the whole house down," Gibbs explained. "And Livia still would have died."

"You don't know-"

"Yes I do," Gibbs said with such authority that Tim automatically nodded in agreement. Gibbs leaned forward so he was back in Tim's personal space. "Let her go, Tim. Because if you believe that it's not your fault as much as you claim to, then sleeping shouldn't be a problem""

"But-"

"No, Tim," Gibbs growled. "You need sleep. C'mon." It wasn't a suggestion, so Tim dutifully followed Gibbs up the final step, down the hall, and into a bedroom. Gibbs flipped on a switch and stepped inside the small room, Tim reluctantly trailing behind. It was bare, but Tim could see evidence that it had been occupied at one time. Faded squares and nail holes illustrated the history of photos and posters that once adorned the walls.

"Get some sleep," Gibbs said gruffly.

"Yeah," Tim replied with absolutely no enthusiasm as he looked at a pink nightlight plugged into the wall next to the dresser.

"And McGee?" There was a pause and Tim finally turned to look back at his boss. "Merry Christmas." Gibbs closed the door behind him as he left and Tim's gaze wandered to the clock, illuminating the time was well past midnight. It was officially Christmas Day.

Sighing, Tim sat on the bed and removed his shoes as he listened to Gibbs enter the bathroom across the hall. He waited until he heard the stream of the shower turn on before quietly slipping out of the room and heading back downstairs. He let his gaze wander across the shadowed space, finding the curves of the worn furniture and outlines of the sparse fixtures. Tim sank down onto the low couch and let his head lay back onto the threadbare cushions, staring up at the ceiling.

Though Tim had rarely been in Gibbs' home, there was familiarity here in the living room… comfort that was largely absent in the cold room upstairs, where a bed and sleep beckoned, promising another lonely and potentially terrifying night.

He was thankful for Gibbs' unquestioning solicitude and hospitality, but his insistence that sleep would cure all ills was not as simple as it sounded. Sleep brought a parade of gruesome deaths, screams of a girl taken from this world too early, and such little rest that staying awake proved to be more tranquil.

Tim wasn't sure what he was expecting when he knocked on Gibbs' door that night. Had he thought his boss would hold his hand and offer up a story or two from his own experience, just like Ellie had done a few nights ago? Or had he held out some irrational hope that Gibbs would have looked past Tim's defenses and seen his suffering – something Tony had accomplished mere hours after Tim had decided against attending Livia's funeral?

"Shower's yours if you need it, McGee."

Tim looked up and could just make out the silhouette of Gibbs turning away from the top of the stairs and fading into the obscurity of the hall. Tim took a deep breath and silently made his way up the stairs and into the bathroom. A quick cold shower completed, he navigated back across the hall into the small bedroom, not bothering with the light, and dropped onto the bed with a frustrated sigh.

Wishing now more than ever that he'd put his foot down and insisted on driving home for the night, Tim unclasped his gun from his belt, tossing it on the bed before he shimmied out of his pants and unbuttoned his top, choosing to forego the pair of sweats that Gibbs had laid out for his use. The room wasn't as warm as he would normally have liked, but the added chill would help him stay awake. Tim tossed his folded clothes in the general direction of the dresser and perched on the side of the bed, his thigh bumping against his weapon. Hefting the gun, he felt its weight in his hands for a moment before reaching out to place it on the small bedside table. His fingertips brushed against something smooth and hot, and he nearly toppled it over in his surprise.

Tim smiled as his hand closed around a tall mug inconspicuously placed there for his benefit. Swapping his weapon for the mug, he pulled it toward him and inhaled the dark scent of roasted coffee that floated up to greet him. Tim closed his eyes as he took his first long swallow and then exhaled deeply, his breath spiraling the steam and tickling his chin. He savored the unexpected gift, unaware or unwilling to acknowledge how his body slowly released its tension with each sip.

And if the following morning Tim appeared a bit more rested and relaxed than he had in weeks, and offered up a genuine smile and laugh as his boss burnt the bacon, Gibbs didn't mention a thing. The two agents sat in companionable silence, sipping their coffee and watching as the first few snowflakes fell on Christmas morning.

**End.**


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